


Undrinkable Light

by killualovesgon



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killualovesgon/pseuds/killualovesgon
Summary: Killua could’ve sworn Gon’s eyes changed colors just then—deep amber melting away into warm honey, sweet and inviting. With his eyes fixed tightly on Gon’s, Killua didn’t notice the other boy’s hand reaching towards him, his calloused fingers brushing against his arm. The inferno in Killua’s chest rose again, and then in his stomach, his ears, his fingers, and he thought for a moment he could’ve blistered Gon on contact.“Killua, come here.” His fingers held onto Killua’s arm, nudging it forward.Gon’s voice was like a siren’s call. Killua couldn’t do anything but oblige.//(Or, Killua accidentally says his "Gon, you are light" speech aloud.)
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 14
Kudos: 335





	Undrinkable Light

Kite was gone.

One-armed, distracted, terrified. Killua sulked into the shadowy recesses of his mind and knew he had left Kite alone to die. _Well_ , he allowed himself to open ever-darker doors, _alone with that monster._

Worse, he realized solemnly that he had failed Gon, lying quiet and still on the bed like Killua had just torn off his wings and incinerated them. He wanted to collapse into himself, to slip silently into a cavern and never crawl out, to liberate Gon from his endless failures. Signs of his cowardice were everywhere—in the emptiness of the room, in the sweat stains of his shirt, in his strained muscles, labored from carrying Gon.

“Killua,” the heavy gloom of the air lifted, and Killua turned, finding Gon upright, eyes focused in on him. “Thank you.”

Killua would’ve preferred a punch to the gut. He bowed his head, studying the floorboards. ‘Thank you’ was the last thing he needed—the last thing he deserved.

“Why would you thank me?”

Gon explained; Killua absently listened, eyes set on anything other than Gon. Killua could hardly process what he was saying—‘stopped,’ ‘control,’ ‘Kite’—words scrambled in a cloudy, venomous brew. He hardly notices Gon pull the blanket off of him and scoot closer to Killua.

“All three of us could’ve died.”

Maybe Gon was too simple for this. Too untouched by darkness to know what loss and failure looked like. Killua tried to make it plain to Gon: it was _his_ fault Kite wasn’t here. _His_ fault he’s likely in pieces by now.

“Kite is alive!”

The dark walls closing in on Killua’s vision quickly snapped apart, revealing a haze of light on the hardwood, patterned with the panel of the window behind them. The small space they shared seemed brighter somehow. Warmer.

He let Gon defend his position, his expression beaming with certainty and a resolve to get stronger. This time, he listened more intently, hanging onto every sentence out of Gon’s mouth like they were sacred poetry. He knew Gon’s body had always healed quickly, sores and scrapes and scars disappearing like he ran on magic, not blood. But now, he was certain this same magic was at work in Gon’s mind, extinguishing any fear and uncertainty. Killua couldn’t come up with a way to refute that thought.

Killua turned to him, straining to focus on the illumination eclipsing Gon’s face. Gon’s certainty displaced Killua’s doubt, filling him with warmth and admiration for the golden-eyed boy.

Killua was in no position to argue. Not anymore. He wished he could lasso Gon’s words and hold them in his hands. Small, glittering treasures. Instead, the world around him quieted, so all he could see was Gon’s lionhearted smile. All he could hear was firm intention in Gon’s voice. It was more than merely reassuring—it was light itself. Light bottled. Captured. Flooded into Gon’s small frame until he was overflowing, his sparkling certainty almost blinding.

Killua thought he knew what the sun was well before he met Gon. Knew its purpose, knew how it felt against his skin. But here Gon was, making Killua question even that. Killua thought if he reached out, he’d be scorched and swallowed up by a solar flare. And yet, Gon spoke and smiled and laughed like he didn’t know he held the strength of the sun inside him. _It’s always so natural to him_ , Killua reasoned. What Killua did start to understand, though, was the true meaning of ‘sunsick.’

His immovable gaze on Gon started to shift into a sweltering, copper-hued dream. Killua could hardly be sure of anything anymore apart from the haziness in his head and the heat boiling up in him. So when he opened his mouth to speak, he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

“ _Gon_ ,” Killua began, the words dancing out of his mouth before he could leash them back inside. “You are light. Sometimes, you shine so brightly, I have to look away.” He paused briefly, thinking, burning. “But even so, is it still okay if I stay by your side?”

Killua’s ribcage felt too tight, two sizes too small to hold his heart. He could feel Gon’s eyes on him, inquisitive and warm, but his gaze stayed fixed on the wood panels of the floor again, his question fluttering like a misplaced butterfly in the room.

“Yes,” Gon replied, and it felt like he had cracked the window of a too-hot car in the summer. “You can always stay by my side, Killua.”

Killua hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath, and when he finally breathed out, he thought he could’ve started a campfire.

“Gon?”

“Mm?”

“You really mean that?”

“I mean it, Killua,” Gon responded, no hesitation in his voice. “I wouldn’t want you anywhere but next to me.”’

Right then, Killua felt like he could’ve drowned in Gon—no, drowned _with_ him in the never-ending glow flittering in from the outside, painting Gon’s skin in shades of bronze and gold and lilac. He wanted to drink this moment in, drink _Gon_ in, and be illuminated from the inside out.

“Is that what you want?” Gon spoke again. Killua had been floating around Gon’s sunny orbit, dazed and drunk off the light. And that question had pulled him back to earth. “To be with me, Killua?”

Thankfully, Gon was still there—there, on the same earth with Killua, his eyes widening, eager for an answer.

“Dunno if I deserve that,” Killua answered at last. And it was the truth. He looked at the dark-haired boy in front of him, less than an arm’s length away, and yet so painfully far.

“It’s not about ‘deserve.’ You get to choose. It’s always your choice.”

 _Choice_. For thirteen years, Killua had chased that word, but resigned with the belief that it was reserved for others. People on the street who never felt another’s blood on their palms, people who slept peacefully in the dark while Killua hunted in the shadows, people like Gon who swam freely in the sea, unaware what poison and electricity and hurt could do to a person. For thirteen years, Killua and ‘choice’ had little to do with each other.

And even so, he chose to be with Gon despite his family. He chose to learn with Gon. He chose to travel with Gon. He chose to fight alongside Gon. He _chose_ Gon, and he’ll choose him again. So when the question of ‘choice’ returned, buzzing around Killua’s head, he didn’t have to think hard.

“I choose to be with you, Gon.”

Killua could’ve sworn Gon’s eyes changed colors just then—deep amber melting away into warm honey, sweet and inviting. With his eyes fixed tightly on Gon’s, Killua didn’t notice the other boy’s hand reaching towards him, his calloused fingers brushing against his arm. The inferno in Killua’s chest rose again, and then in his stomach, his ears, his fingers, and he thought for a moment he could’ve blistered Gon on contact.

“Killua, come here.” His fingers held onto Killua’s arm, nudging it forward.

Gon’s voice was like a siren’s call. Killua couldn’t do anything but oblige.

So, he moved—he moved right into the path of the sun, and instead of burning him, it warmed him like a perfectly tucked blanket, like a sweet-scented bubble bath, like _Gon_. Gon’s hand cruised down Killua’s arm, stopping at the hand pressed against the mattress, the only thing holding Killua up. And he slid his own underneath, his thumb like the magnetic needle of a compass pulling Killua ever closer.

Killua’s eyes fluttered closed, but not before he caught sight of Gon’s mouth, parting and pink and perfect. Gon took the lead, his lips curling against the shape of Killua’s own, unsure and unstable but determined. The feverish want of his mouth practically sizzled against Gon’s, prompting Killua to suck in air, reveling in the sweet breath he stole from Gon, delighting in how he tasted. A distinct, narcotic mixture of honey and flesh. Killua never wanted to turn the page on this moment.

But Gon did, shifting his weight on the bed to drape his other hand onto the back of Killua’s neck. His fingers took residence in Killua’s hair, nails grazing against his scalp and sending a jolt of electric shivers down his spine—Killua’s first and only break from the incandescent heat.

Their kiss was clumsy and inexperienced, wet and warm and thrilling, filling Killua with thoughts of _more, more, more_. His instincts reacted before he could, his free hand falling onto Gon’s chest, fingers spreading to feel as much of him as possible. He delighted in the up-and-down rhythm of Gon’s heaving chest. Killua thought back to the glistening blue waves of Whale Island, reeling back and forth, a fitting likeness to Gon.

Killua had fully, totally sunk into Gon’s kiss, tentative fingers and hands and lips turning possessive, needy. For a second, Killua privately decided no one could ever touch him as kindly, as sublimely as Gon. He hoped this would never stop.

So when Gon does uncouple from the kiss, Killua lets out a small, whimpering sigh from the back of his throat, his forehead balanced against Gon’s. He takes a minute to breathe Gon in, indulging in the pinker hue of his mouth, now dangling open and panting.

“Killua,” Gon whispered, voice delicate, delicious. “I think you may be the best kisser in the world.”

Of course Gon would say that. Killua took a moment to shepherd his jumbled thoughts, pulling away to assess Gon’s expression. “How would you know?”

“Just do.”

“Idiot, there’s how many people in the world? You can’t know that.”

“But I do,” Gon’s unabashed honesty was suffocating sometimes. “Besides, I don’t care about kissing anyone else in the world anyway.”

Killua wondered if there was a shade of red brighter than his skin in that moment, but still, he couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know how you can say stuff like that. It’s so embarrassing.”

Gon’s brows pulled together in a puzzled furrow. “There’s nothing embarrassing about liking you, Killua.”

 _God_ , Killua could’ve curled into a ball just then and pleaded with the earth to swallow him whole. Surely, there’s no way he could ever get used to Gon—never get used to his frankness or his light or his touches or his kisses.

Still, he had to ask. Maybe for confirmation, maybe just to hear it again. “You like me, Gon?”

“Yes,” Gon chirped. “I like you a lot, Killua, and if it’s all right with you, can I kiss you again?”

Killua’s heart swelled, but the constricting feeling of his chest from before was replaced by fluid expansion, making room for a Gon-shaped mark inside him.

“I like you, too, Gon.” It was out. “A lot.” Could he say it again? “I like you so much, Gon.” And once more. “And I want to kiss you.”

The black-haired boy glowed, and with Gon’s arms spread like a bird taking flight, Killua found a home right there, claiming Gon in a flurry of open-mouthed, fiery kisses.


End file.
